A goad to quicken him in his pace.
But sorrow a step he changed, and his prayer
Was still—“Lend us the loan of a halfpenny, sir!”
[ON THE TOP-STONE]
On the top-stone.
A nipping wind blowing.
Winter dusk closing in from the south Ards.
The moon rising, white and fantastic, over the loch and the town below.
I take off my hat, salute her, and descend into the darkness.